With No Uncertainty
by PercySnail
Summary: Simply put - a wedding night fic.


Her feet are aching; sore and tired from wearing a different heel than she is used to; and this is her focus as she crosses the threshold into the room. She has been on her feet more than she normally would be in a day, hasn't sat down in hours, and the nagging pain has sharpened into a raw point. So focused on getting these shoes off her feet, she forgets to remember the ribbon of anxiety over what tonight means.

"It's here – it's right here –"

Charles was a respectable distance behind her, fumbling for the light on the wall, and she is quick to find the chair, sitting heavily on it as he trails in behind her. Elsie slides the shoes off, a deep sigh from between her parted lips as she massages the ache from her tired heels.

When she looks up, finally, satisfied that she'll be able to walk again in the morning, she sees him standing there, hands tucked gently behind his back as he watches her intently, and the flutter in her stomach returns; the jitters swiftly finding their way back. She tries to shake them away, hiding her fear as she speaks first.

"Well, Mr. Carson, you act like you've never seen a lady's foot before?" The sarcastic quip hangs heavy, and she realizes it doesn't quite hide the slight tremor in her voice; the trepidation over what will come tonight evident to both present.

As she waits for him to respond, she ponders this feeling. It is not quite apprehension – no, she knows what that feels like, what real fear in the pit of her stomach feels like. This is different, this feeling, this flutter, is not an angst or despair. Rather, it feels like an anticipation – an anxiety, yes, but in the manner of something much more pleasant. There is a happiness to the shake in her hand, and almost instinctively she knows she should remember this; savor it in some way.

He clears his throat, responding as quietly as he is capable of. "I've never seen _your_ foot Mrs. Hugh-" his voice catches then, as he pauses. "Elsie. I've never seen your foot, Elsie."

She smiles slightly then, patting the patterned chair next to hers. "I suppose you're right, Charles." His name rolls off her tongue, her accent thicker here, her pitch deeper in this half lit room. It isn't a seductive voice; no, she doesn't have the daring for that tonight, but it is a warmer tone, one he recognizes from later nights in his pantry, an extra glass of wine shared between them.

He sits then, and they are silent for a bit. The silence is not uncomfortable, nor out of place, and she finds it only natural when he extends his hand over the arm of the chairs, reaching slowly towards her, fingers snaking slightly as he seeks out her own hand. They remain that way, and she breaks the silence first.

"It was quite a day, wasn't it?"

"It was," he replies, his grumble pleasant as he smiles, recalling their long day.

She laughs, runs a thumb across the back of his hand, as she shares a story of Marigold's dancing with him, and when he returns the gesture, she relaxes more.

It is simple, really, from there.

He procures two glasses of sherry for them, and they drink, and it feels normal, talking as they always do – of the house, of the people, of their people - but the whole time, her hand is in his , and their bodies lean towards each other, knees touching as the minutes continue, and there is a marked difference, this slow, steady shift closer than they've ever really been before, for this long.

When she reaches over, smile on her face as she plucks a piece of confetti from his hair, it seems natural that he catches her hand in his, holding it close to his face, and when she bites her lip – that little action that he's watched for so many years, he can't resist leaning in, arm of the chair digging into his stomach be damned, as he slowly lowers his lips to hers.

It is soft, slow; almost languorous, this kiss. It is warm, a happy flush spreading down her chest as she lets her hand fall down his neck, gently finding a spot on his chest. It goes on for a few moments, before he pulls back, flinching at the furniture inflicted pain, and her eyes flutter open, catching his.

The atmosphere is heavy now, and she feels lightly emboldened as she stands, holds out her hand to him. Leads him slowly to the edge of the bed, where she sits first, he following suit. He slides off his shoes, and she watches, somehow unable to turn away from this intimate detail; same as he had before.

"You've never seen a man's foot before?" She hears the quake in his voice, and she knows that he's feeling the same as she; nervous, happily so, but nervous nonetheless. Elsie smiles, shakes her head, unable to come up with an adequate retort.

She looks up, catches his eye, and that gentle look; the one she sees so rarely on his face, is present. He looks down, places his hand over hers, and when he looks back up, asks her just once.

"If you're sure, Elsie?"

A deep breath, and she responds, grateful to have the chance to reassure him, as he has for her. "I'm…I have never been so sure of –"

The rest of the sentence is lost, as he pulls her close, his mouth landing on hers softly.

Kisses grow from slow, steady and sweet; need gradually increasing. Hands move across the gap between them, both of hers resting sweetly on his chest, one of his holding them up as the other rests lightly on her hip. His hand begins to slide, slowly, and they find themselves recumbent, almost lying down.

It progresses, and it isn't without falters; missteps. Her dress is not as easy to slip out of as she had assumed; his vest buttons are small, difficult. She is hesitant at first, slipping out of her undergarments in front of him, and he senses the discomfort, undresses himself first, quickly divesting himself of clothing as he slides back between the covers. She follows suit, shedding the last of her intimate clothing without leaving the den they've created in the bed.

She meets his eyes again, and she shivers when she sees the honest simplicity in them; the want and need that she'd never realized he held for her before. Lips meet again, and this time, skin to skin, hands wander more easily; exploring spaces, ears tuned to each other's reactions. His mouth wanders, slowly – down the line of her jaw, her shoulder blade; intensity changing as he goes. A tender kiss to a scar, almost reverent as he pauses, and she threads fingers through his hair, holding him to that spot; banishing the lingering what ifs together. He pauses, looks up at her, and a sad smile crosses her face for just a moment. She pushes the disobedient lock of hair out of his eyes, and gasps as his mouth returns to her skin; hands sliding down, gently seeking her out.

Her head pushes back into the pillow, as he explores her, and she finds herself unable to hold back the noises it elicits. He continues, moments sliding into minutes, but she is unable to continue; so sure she is now that she wants him; wants to be complete, to be with him fully. They can continue this exploration – they have the time – but now; here tonight – she wants the space in between them unrestricted, finally. She pulls at him, tugging at his arms, and Charles understands, ascends so they are head to head. His lips brush over her forehead, and he lifts himself up, hovering above her, eyes locking on hers briefly before he pushes forward, joining them.

He moves above her, and her body responds; awkwardly at first, out of sync, but they find their rhythm eventually, intensity building; and when he reaches between them, he pushes her over the edge; following swiftly behind. They lay for a moment, before he eases out of the bed, a flannel in hand as he returns. She cleans herself as he slides back between the covers.

He lies next to her, and she is comfortable now, easily curling herself towards him, the awkwardness of before gone. Charles slides an arm underneath her, pulling her even closer, and exhausted, they fall into an easy slumber.


End file.
